


Tease

by killjoy_assbutt



Series: killjoy_assbutt's oneshots [3]
Category: Henry Cavill - Fandom, The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Geralt of Rivia smut, Smut, geralt of rivia x reader smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:08:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28015983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killjoy_assbutt/pseuds/killjoy_assbutt
Summary: Anon requested: Geralt and Reader are teasing each other until Geralt snaps and fucks her until she passes out.Summary: You accompany your brother Jaskier and the famous White Wolf on their travels through the Continent. Over the time, you start to catch feelings for the lonesome Witcher, and you decide to act on them – your parents didn’t raise a coward after all. So you keep teasing and teasing, waiting for his strong patience to snap. And when it does, it’s far more than you bargained for.Pairing: Geralt x 1st person reader; Jaskier x sister!readerWarnings: SMUT (obviously); teasing (badly written, I suck at flirting); rough sex; multiple orgasms (a total of seven); dom/sub; male!dom/fem!sub; mentions of body fluids; overstimulation; begging; marking; size!kink; mature language; took a slightly darker twist towards the end of the, uhm, session; little fluff at the endIf you’re uncomfortable with any of this, do not read!unbeta'd, all typos are mineEnjoy ❤️ feedback and reblog are always welcome and appreciated 💕
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/You, Jaskier | Dandelion & Reader, jaskier & sister!reader
Series: killjoy_assbutt's oneshots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051982
Comments: 2
Kudos: 116





	Tease

“Is that the best you can do?” I pant as I raise my blade, pointing it at my opponent, who, with a deep growl, does the same. He swings his sword at me and I dodge it expertly, swinging my own sword at him in return. He delivers blow after blow, and I either block or dodge every single one of them. The dance lasts for a while. We let out teasing remarks, echoed by the clashing of our swords. All the while, my brother sits on a log by the campfire, strumming his lute, composing his next song.

Yeah, being the daughter of the Viscount of Lettenhove has its perks. Father lets us do whatever we want. He was the one who allowed Jaskier to travel the Continent before going to Oxenfurt for some education fitting his status. He was the one who trained me in swordfight and fencing when I asked. And when Jaskier showed up at home two months ago, accompanied by none other than the famous Geralt of Rivia, father allowed me to go with them.

“You fight like an angry kitten, girl!”

About half an hour passes and the sword in my hands begins to feel heavy, but if there is one thing father has taught me, it’s to never let your opponent know they have the upper hand.

“What?” I challenge, “Don’t you have more?”

“Oh, my lady, I could go on for hours,” the White Wolf grins at me tauntingly, bearing his fangs, “but I doubt you can.”

I clench my jaw, frustrated with how easily he read me. With a weak battlecry, I charge at him, but my grip isn’t as strong as it had been an hour ago, and sweaty palms made the handle slippery.

Geralt knocks the sword from my hands in a matter of seconds, spins me around and pulls me against his chest, his blade resting against my throat with just enough pressure to let me know I’ve been defeated.

“It seems, my lady,” he growls into my ear, “That you’re not as strong as you think you are.”

I blame it on the exhaustion that I let my body fall slack against his incredibly broad one, letting out a long breath in an attempt to slow my racing heartbeat. I’m lost in the moment, feeling the flex of Geralt’s strong chest against my back. My mind is racing straight to the gutter with the thoughts of his body against mine. He’s large, handsome and seems to have quite the stamina. In short, I want him. I wanted him ever since the stepped a foot onto my father’s court.

So now I stand there, pressed against him, my head barely reaching his shoulder, his sword against my neck and his growled remark still ringing through my ears. Well, until –

“Hey, listen to this!” Jaskier calls and Geralt quickly lets go of me, marching over to slump down on a log and tears the leg off the rabbit that’s been roasting over the fire. With a little blush tinting my cheeks, I saunter over to where my brother is seated, intentionally passing the Witcher. I sway my hips more than necessary. I know he’s staring.

***

“Sit still, for crying out loud!” I hiss for what feels like the tenth time in just a few minutes. My hands are bloody, the needle slippery and the Witcher’s constant flinching isn’t helping. A bruxa had almost gotten the better of him and it was on me to stitch up the long gash bitch had left along his ribs.

“And they call me a butcher,” Geralt grumbles and then supresses a hiss of pain as I make another stitch.

“It would hurt less if you would stay still,” I mutter, “Or do you want me to kiss it better?”

“As much as I would like that, my lady, I doubt that would work.”

“Then stop whining and let me do what I need to do.”

An hour later, he lies in his bed, ribcage bandaged, and high on herbs that should soothe his pain. I sit at his side watching him, while my brother is out earning some extra coin downstairs in the tavern. Absentmindedly, I run my fingers through the Witcher’s tangled and dirty mane, caress his strong jaw. Luckily, he’s out as a light, so he doesn’t notice.

He looks peaceful now, handsome features relaxed for once. He’s gorgeous, and there is no denying that he makes me feel a certain way. Lost in thought, I keep caressing his cheek and jaw, thread my fingers through his hair. There is a thin sheen of sweat lining his brow, rebuilding within a few minutes every time I wipe it away.

I quickly pull my hand back when I see him stir. Geralt groans in pain, attempting to sit up. In a flash, my hands are on his shoulders, pushing him back down gently but determined.

“No, no, Witcher. Stay down. I’m not stitching you up again,” I scold, dabbing a little sweat off his brow, – again – lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

“You wouldn’t have to in the first place, if you had just followed my orders,” he grunts, then groans again, another attempt to sit up failing.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air in frustration, “But I guess you can be happy _someone_ was willing to play the bait. What would you have done if I hadn’t been there?”

Geralt remains quiet while I turn my back and march over to the table, mixing a new dose of herbs.

“Thought so,” I mutter.

***

Weeks later, Jaskier had convinced Geralt to play bodyguard at some royal banquet – not for the first time, I gathered.

“Well, don’t you clean up nicely,” I grin as I barge into the Witcher’s room, finding him with combed hair for once, while Jaskier tugs the dark blue doublet in place over the light grey shirt, “Why no armour, though?”

“Ask your brother,” Geralt just grumbles, definitely uncomfortable in those new clothes.

I simply shrug and step closer to the broad man, the heavy skirts of my gown rustling as I go.

Bold hands move to touch his medallion, turning the pendant around, so the engraved side is facing outward again. Featherlight, I run my fingertips along the outlines of the snarling wolf, before I let my fingers linger on his chest.

Peering up at him, innocently through my lashes, I catch him staring down at me, not at my face but lower, at the soft swell of my breasts, peeking out from my tightly laced bodice I’ve grown used to over the years.

Once he realizes he’s staring, he clears his throat loudly and takes a step back.

“We should get going,” he mutters, before stepping out of the room.

I’m left behind to stare at Jaskier, dumbfounded. My brother just shrugs, linking his arm with mine to lead me down to the great hall.

The large room is swarming with nobility, the fewest of them I had met before. We find Geralt leaning against the wall, a pint of ale in hand, and not long after, I stand next to him, dumped by Jaskier so he could perform. There is a tense silence between us while I search for something to talk about.

“This isn’t the first time you watch over my brother at a royal party?” I ask clumsily.

“No,” is all Geralt grumbles in return and for a moment, the silence between us continues. Then, “The first time was in Cintra. Didn’t end well.”

I turn to him, surprised that he’s taking. “What happened?” I ask, wide-eyed and curious.

“That’s none of your business, my lady.”

“Jaskier told me you claimed the Law of Surprise? Where is that child it got you?” The question slips out before I can stop it. Anxiously, I bite my tongue while waiting for his answer.

“Where should it be? It’s in Cintra, where it belongs,” comes his grunted reply after a moment.

“You didn’t claim it?”

“No.”

And the silence resumes, weighing heavier than ever. A few young nobles approach over the time, asking me for a dance, but I politely decline every single one of them. There’s only one man here tonight I’d want to dance with, and he’s not even talking to me. Still, I feel him tense up every time the words “My lady, would you honour me with a dance?” are said.

Dinner is served soon enough, and passes rather quickly. All the while, I can feel the Witcher’s glances, but I don’t pay much attention to him, catching up with a friend I haven’t seen in a long time. When he asks me for a dance, I don’t deny him, letting him lead me to the dancefloor. Geralt’s eyes don’t leave me for even one second, until, finally, I see him get up from his seat and come over, determination in his step, making the ground shake – or am I the only one who feels that way?

“Mind if I take over?” his deep, smooth voice sounds honey-sweet as he steps up to us.

“Of course, Sir,” the young knight bows and lets go of my hand and waist. He bows low as we part and I curtsy quickly, straightening back up to meet the Witcher’s amber gaze, a hint of anger dancing in his eyes like a little flame. Within a blink, his right hand is splayed out over the expanse of my lower back, his other one swallowing my own whole, making me feel small and trapped against his large form – an addicting feeling that I’ve craved since the moment I met him.

Geralt starts to sway to the slow music and I follow as he leads me across the dancefloor with surprising ease. Every single step is precise, sheer dominance radiating off him. I wouldn’t have expected a ‘savage’ Witcher, how many people called them still, to be talented in ballroom dancing.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” I smirk up at him, not letting this new discovery intimidate me – his size compared to mine, so close, does that already, but I won’t let it show.

“I get around,” is all he mutters in reply.

“So I’ve noticed.” There’s a moment of silence between us and I use it to trail my hand from his shoulder down his bulging biceps and back up to rest against his chest. I notice him staring at my cleavage again and I bite the inside of my lip not to laugh.

“You think you can do that, hm?” he growls after a while and pulls me closer, chests touching lightly.

“Do what?” I ask innocently, blinking up at him.

“Don’t play coy now; you know exactly what I mean.”

“I am afraid I do not, Witcher.”

“So you want me to spell it you for you, do you?” Geralt hisses.

On the outside, I keep my innocent mask, giving Geralt a questioning look. But inwardly, I’m squealing and grinning. I had finally gotten to him, after months of hinting and teasing, all it had taken was a little bit of jealousy.

“You think you can tease me for months and then take the first chance you get to flirt with another man?” he almost spits.

I bite my lip and peer at him through my lashes. “Well, yes?”

“Oh no, you cannot.” With these words, he pulls me flush against his body and smashes his lips on mine in an urgent kiss. I kiss back just as needy, letting him pry my lips apart without resistance, welcoming his slippery, talented tongue in my hot cavern. The dance long forgotten, we stand on the dancefloor, tightly entwined in each other, letting our tongues do the dancing now.

“Fuck,” I whisper against his lips once Geralt pulls back to let me breathe. Without another word, he takes my hand and leads me out of the hall. If I had glanced over my shoulder, I would have seen Jaskier grinning and nodding at us, but I didn’t, too caught up in the Witcher leading me away.

I stumble after him, struggling to match his fast and urgent pace. Some people give us weird looks, but neither of us cares. Once in an empty hallway, Geralt slams my back against the stone wall, cornering me with his large body. He stares down at my heaving chest.

“My eyes are up here,” I giggle breathlessly, cupping the back of his neck with both hands and pulling him in for another deep kiss. He growls against my lips, the deep rumble shooting straight to my core, slickening my waiting cove.

“How many of these nobles do you know?” he murmurs against my skin as he moves to nip on my neck.

“Too many for you to fuck me here in the hall,” I pant, before biting back a moan threatening to escape.

“Pity. I could take you right against this wall,” he growls.

“As much as I would love that, Geralt, my father would disown me if he was to ever find out,” I mumble, trying to catch my breath.

“That you fucked a Witcher?”

I shake my head, laughing a lightly, “That I fucked in public; not to mention at a royal court. My father does not hold grudges against you Witchers. If he did, he would have never allowed me to come with you,” I point out, playing with the collar of his shirt. “You look very nice, by the way.” I smile up at him, suddenly shy.

“I would have preferred my armour, bu-” I cock my eyebrow at him and he stops his grumbling, smiling down at me softly, “Thank you. You do too, my lady.”

I grin and pull him in for another short kiss, before saying, “But I believe we’d both look better without all these constricting layers. Am I not right?”

Geralt doesn’t say anything, just lets go of a deep growl that makes me shudder before pulling me along the long hallways of the castle towards his assigned chamber. Once inside, he backs me up against the locked door with a predatory look in his eyes.

“You’re really asking for this, aren’t you?” he growls as he grips my hips tightly and pins me to the door.

“Oh fuck, yes,” I breathe in response, fumbling to push the doublet over his broad shoulders. He shrugs it off, the fabric rustling quietly as it falls to the ground. With my fingers tangled in his hair, the Witcher dives forward to claim my lips again, the kiss more urgent than minutes ago.

“How important is that dress to you?” he mutters against my mouth, nipping at my bottom lip, the day-old stubble on his jaw scratching my tender skin as he speaks.

“W-what?”

“I said, how important is that dress to you, my lady. Because I am tempted to tear it off you.”

I swat his hand away playfully as he starts tugging at the bottom of my bodice. “Don’t you dare, Witcher!” Geralt pulls his hands away and allowing me to turn around, my chest pressing against the chill wood as he slowly leans in to start unlacing, lips caressing every inch of skin that’s revealed to his eyes. The bodice falls to the ground with a quiet thud, followed by the rustling of my heavy skirt.

“Too many fucking layers,” Geralt grumbles, tugging at my slip and corset until both join the heaps of fabric on the floor, “But I can still smell how wet you are for me, girl.”

I gasp at his words, turning abruptly to throw my arms around his neck. I pull him in deep, and let him kiss me even deeper. Geralt’s hands wander from my waist down to the back of my thighs, but not before giving the cheeks of my behind a firm, long squeeze. A moan slips escapes my throat, spurring him on as he hikes my legs up to wrap around his waist.

Within seconds, my back is flush against the wall, hips grinding desperately against the hard planes of the Witcher’s body, seeking for some kind of friction. A deep growl erupts from the large animal as he devours my mouth, and suddenly, the constant pressure against my beck is gone, but soon replaced by the sweet softness of the castle’s expensive bedsheets.

Geralt lays me down on the bed, kneeling up for a moment, letting his eyes hungrily rake over my trembling form.

“You’re beautiful, little kitten,” he rasps, before diving back in to claim my lips, but he doesn’t remain there for long.

Slowly, he kisses his way from my lips to my jaw and down my neck, leaving little marks as he goes. He nips and licks at my collarbone, the dark purple marks a stark contrast to my skin. Geralt pulls back a little, admiring his work with lust-blown pupils. My body shakes in anticipation under his hot stare, the gold in his eyes glowing like ember, their heat seeping right into my core.

“I’d say the same about you, but I can’t really see you,” I try to purr, but it comes out as clumsy whisper instead, my brain hazed by the large, handsome Witcher above me and what he’s done so far.

With a sound between chuckle and growl, Geralt dives back in, lips, tongue and teeth caressing and teasing down the valley of my chest, strong hands coming up to firmly knead my tender breast. A whimper slips from my lips as my nipples harden against his rough, warm palms almost instantly, so sensitive, his ministrations send sparks all over my body.

Geralt turns his head and bites into my soft flesh, where it wouldn’t be hidden by any clothes I owned. I gasp as his teeth sink into my breast, gentle, yet hard enough to bruise. He licks and kisses at the stinging skin, humming at my taste as I let out small, breathy moans. The need within my core is burning, I’m trembling and desperate to have him inside me.

“Fuck, Geralt, please,” I whimper weakly between moans and shaky breaths.

He looks at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he grins. “Patience, my lady.” With these words, he moves to my other breast, marking it up just like the one before.

“No, please. He’ll see,” I whine, but my words are empty. Deep inside, I love being marked up by the famous Witcher. Deep inside, I don’t care that my brother will see what we did – he knows anyway.

It doesn’t matter anyway; my words fall to deaf ears. I guess he could smell how wet it was making me, so he keeps going, ignoring my pleas. He travels further down my body, marking my stomach, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses along my ribs and down my torso. Goose bumps rise on my skin as he blows on the wet patches, making me tremble.

Again, he pulls back, admiring his work: a tiny, trembling girl, marked by his lips, teeth and spit. There is a sense of pride in his eyes, like a predator that is about to devour its prey. Oh and devour me he does.

Within seconds, my undergarments are ripped from my body and my legs thrown over the Witcher’s shoulders, before I can even comprehend what happened. Wide-eyed, I stare down at Geralt, propped up on his elbows between my legs, grinning up at me teasingly.

“Please,” I pant, not knowing what exactly I’m asking for. The Witcher ticks his tongue.

“Patience.”

I let out a whimper, the need within my core growing unbearable, but Geralt just grins and starts nipping at the inside of my thigh, up to where I need him the most, but skips my keening folds, repeating the action on my other thigh.

My mind is swimming with just one thought: _I need him._ With my head thrown back into the soft pillows, I am panting, pleading for him to do something. But his cruel torture continues. He peppers soft kisses all over my mound, inching closer to my heat oh so slowly.

Unable to take it anymore, my hands find themselves tangled in his long, silky mane, trying to tug him to where I need him.

Geralt chuckles against my skin. “So desperate,” he muses in a rough whisper, but he groans when I tug a little harder than before, then inhales deeply. “Fuck, you smell so sweet, kitten.”

I let out a whine at his words, way beyond the point of forming ones of my own. Another chuckle. Another tug on his hair. And then, finally, he lays a small kiss on my lower lips, making me jolt.

“No one’s ever done that to you, hm?” he observes and I shake my head, “But you’re no virgin either.” Again, I shake my head, then gasp as he licks a broad stripe through my folds, from my slit right to my clit. But he spots just before he can touch my little pearl of pleasure. I can feel it throb and let out a whine of protest, wordlessly begging him. For what I’m begging, I’m not sure, all I know it that there is a pit forming in my gut, burning with hellfire, and only one thing can put it out.

Obeying to my pleading, Geralt repeats his action, this time flicking my little bundle of nerves with just the tip of his tongue. But the sensation is enough for me to cry out and clench around nothing. He hums lowly, dragging his teeth along my lips.

“You taste so much sweeter than I first thought, kitten. Fuck, you taste amazing!”

The vibration of his rough voice registers deep in my core, giving him a new wave of wetness to feast upon. With his eyes set on mine, he licks his lips before sinking into my folds, groaning at the taste.

“Fuck!” I cry out, followed by a string of broken moans as he devours me like a starving man. His tongue laps at my insides, discovering new spots that make me buck, just to hold down my hips in his iron grip.

Everything I feel is so strong and new, that it doesn’t take long for my walls to tremble, the pit in my belly threatening to explode. Desperately, I tug on Geralt’s strands, but I don’t know if I want him to go deeper or to stop. My legs shake on his shoulders and threaten to clench around his head, but he keeps them open, grunting like a beast as he fucks me with his tongue.

And then, suddenly, I see white, my whole body tenses and twitches. A faint cry of the Witcher’s name rings in my ears and it takes me a moment to realize that it’s me screaming. Wave after wave of euphoria washes through my body, and I’m panting heavily, feeling boneless and limp as my vision clears.

Heavy-lidded, my eyes settle on the man between my legs. Throughout my climax, he kept licking and sucking, and he isn’t stopping. No. Instead, he picks up the pace, tongue plunging in between my petals, drinking in the honey of my pleasure.

Without warning, a finger joins his tongue, and shortly after, I see white again. When I come down, he still isn’t stopping. Fingers crooking in my core, Geralt latches his lips to my sensitive and throbbing pearl. It’s all too much and within a minute, I cum again, convulsing, trembling, spine lifting off the bed. And still, he keeps his ministrations steady, stroking and caressing my insides with two long and thick fingers, crooking them up, fingertips touching just the right spots, while his tongue keeps tracing patterns my poor, throbbing clit.

“Please, Geralt. No more. I can’t. Please,” I beg, not tugging, but pulling on his hair, trying to get him off me. It’s too much.

My pleading is answered with a growl. Like a dog when you try to steal its bone. Low and threatening. A tiny rush of fear flows through my body. He is not going to stop. Not until he has punished me for teasing him and then flirting with other men. The fear washes a new wave of wetness through my core, which he feasts upon, grunting wildly.

“Please,” I whine, one last time. My voice is meek, hoarse from screaming for him before.

“One more, kitten,” Geralt coos then, “I know you can do it. One more time. Cum for me, kitten.”

My body follows his demand before I can even process what’s happening. I cum around his fingers with a strangled cry, my whole body twitching and trembling. Tears fall from my eyes from the intensity of my orgasm, and when I come down, I’m a shaking and sobbing mess.

This is when Geralt finally pulls his fingers from me. I jolt and whimper weakly when he accidentally makes contact with my clit, only briefly, but it’s enough to send painful sparks of overstimulation throughout my whole body.

Geralt comes crawling up to lie beside me, his face glistening with my juices in the candlelight just like my skin is shining with my sweat.

“You did so good, little kitten,” he coos, pulling me into his arms. I cling onto his shirt, balling the fabric in my fist as I bury my face into his chest. Rubbing gentle circles on my back, Geralt whispers soothingly into my ear, calming me down effectively. Once my sob cease, he pushes me back a little to look straight into my eyes. His face is serious, yet his pupils remain lust-blown. It scares me a little. I dread what’s coming, but it excites me nonetheless.

“You know I’m not done with you yet, right?” he asks, but it’s far from a question. It’s a fact. He’s not done with me. Period.

I bite my lip and nod at him, eyes wide and innocent, as if I hadn’t just let him eat me like it was his last meal on earth.

“Are you ready?” his voice is a tad more gentle, now. I shake my head.

“A few more minutes?” I ask timidly.

“Okay.” Still, Geralt gets off the bed and starts stripping of his clothes.

I can’t help but stare at the glory that is revealed to me. Broad chest is littered with scars in all shapes and sizes, and even if I had seen them before, in this setting they make my breath hitch instead of heart clench. He is beautiful, gorgeous even. Dark curls dusting his pecs and lower abdomen, the line of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers, but lead no doubt to his treasure.

He sheds of his constricting breeches, the outline of his manhood becoming clearer as he stands in front of me in his pants. My mouth water at the sight of him, more so when with one final push, he stands there, completely bared to my eyes. I can’t help but gape at the glorious sight, the famous White Wolf in all his beauty.

“You’re drooling, my lady,” Geralt chuckles as he climbs back into bed, “Ready?”

Again, I shake my head. The spot between my thighs is still pulsing, still sensitive with every move I make. Yet there is no denying that I want him to be inside me. “Just a little bit,” I whisper.

With a low hum, the Witcher wraps me up in his arms, holding me close in his tight embrace. The way we’re laying, it’s almost impossible not to feel his hardness pressing to my side. He’s throbbing already, wet with precum and just as huge as the rest of Geralt.

“Just ignore it,” he mumbles, noticing the slight shift in my breathing, “Wait until you’re ready.”

I simply nod and nuzzle in deeper to his chest, the iron rod wrapped in velvet he calls his cock now pressing into my hip. As worn out as I am, I want him.

So, I slowly start grinding against him, craning my neck to claim his lips. Willingly, Geralt kisses back, probably relieved that I’m ready. He lets me assume control, holding onto my hips as he rolls to lie on his back, our lips not parting. Geralt lets me go at my pace, patiently caressing up and down my sides. I know, by now he’s so hard it must hurt, but still he isn’t rushing me.

After a few minutes of lazy kisses, I slowly pull back, my hands on his chest for support. Geralt looks up at me questioningly, and I nod. He puts his hand on my hips and guides me to kneel up. My eyes grow wide as I see his length, all hard and heavy against his abdomen.

“You can take it,” he encourages, “We’ll take it slow.”

I nod, biting my lip, and reach for his shaft. But he beats me to it, holding his member in one hand, guiding my hips above the tip with the other. Cautiously, I sway my hips back and forth, feeling the head of his cock just between my petals. I slick him up with my juices, watching as Geralt’s face twists with the first bits of pleasure he received that night. I feel a little guilty and start to sink down on him, wincing after just a few inches, my taut canal too sore to take him at once. I lift myself up again and then slowly sink back down, taking him a little deeper than before. I continue until there’s only one third to go. There, I stop myself and take a few calming breaths, bracing myself for what I’m about to do.

“Good, so good,” Geralt coos, not catching on to my plan, “You’re doing amazing, little kitte- Ohh.”

With once swift movement, I sink all the way down on him, crying loudly out when his tip meets my cervix.

“Shit,” I hiss, feeling him stretch me out, farther than any other man before, but begin rocking on him anyway, without giving myself much time to adjust, the pain welcome.

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters as I start to bounce on top of him, speeding up relatively fast. Soon, I’m riding him like a wild horse. The pit in my belly starts to grow just as fast, only making me pick up the pace once again. Bouncing up and down on him, supported by his hands on my hips, I can feel every vein and every ridge of his cock inside me, stroking against my walls just perfectly. The way his tip rams into my cervix with every time I sink down on him hurts deliciously. The room is filled with Geralt’s deep groans and grunts, and my loud and high-pitched moans of pleasurable pain. Flames lick at my insides and I clench tightly around him, my pace beginning to falter.

Not long before the coil snaps within, throwing me into the abyss of white-hot euphoria. Again, my vision goes white as I twitch and tense throughout my high. Geralt keeps guiding my hips while my head is thrown back, mouth hanging open with inaudible chants of his name. He catches me when I collapse on his chest and carefully turns us around. He kisses me sweetly while riding me through my bliss, prolonging it.

With a sigh, I come back down and cradle his skull, keeping his lips pressed on mine while he rolls his hips against mine, deep and slow. I wince slightly at the overstimulation, but with him inside me, I’m still not sated, even after five orgasms.

“Can you take it?” Geralt asks, propping himself up on his elbows. I nod, hesitantly, still sensitive, but eager for more. “Good.”

With that, he starts to pick up his pace, the rolling of his hips becomes hard, deep thrusts, that gradually become faster. I cling onto his shoulders, dig my nails into his muscle. He is wild from having to hold back for so long. Animalistic grunts leave his throat, rumbling through my body straight to my core. He’s not gentle. No, he’s rough and demanding, now chasing his own high. But it feels good, somehow, to be nothing but an instrument for his pleasure. It’s only fair that he uses me now, after he had given me not one, but five orgasms. It hurts, the way he is rutting into my cervix. I’m sure it’s bruised by now, but the pain feels so good. So good that I catch myself clenching around him once again.

Tears escape from my eyes, but Geralt kisses them away, thrusts becoming faster, deeper and harder once again.

And then my world goes white for the sixth time tonight. I go limp, twitching and trembling beneath him. I cum, sobbing and crying, convulsing around him, but he keeps going.

“Please, I can’t,” I beg weakly, barely at the brink of consciousness, “N-no more. Geralt, I can’t. Please.”

“You can,” he pants, “Just… one more, kitten. You asked for this. You can do it. I know you can. One more time. For me.”

And so, I hang on as he rams into me, hard and fast. Everything is so intense, borderline painful, but the pain only feeds to the bliss. Apart from hurt and pleasure, my mind is blank. All I can do is cling on to the beast above me; how his muscles flex beneath my fingers. He’s large, and I realize that I couldn’t fight him off, even if I wanted to. I am completely and entirely at his mercy. This thought feeds to my arousal like nothing else.

Soon enough I feel him swell and twitch between my velvet walls, and both his thrusts and groans become even more animalistic. In a brief moment of clarity, I wrap my fingers around the chain around his neck and pull him in for a deep kiss, grunts and cries muffled by our lips on each other. His pace is faltering, hips stuttering, and then he spills himself into my core, hot seed splattering my battered walls. He lets go of a deep moan and keeps rutting into me, making sure I get everything he has. The sensation of his essence shooting inside me send me over the edge. I cry out, curses mingling with his name, my mind in a daze as I fall slack against the bed.

I barely feel how Geralt pulls out carefully and cleans me up, whispering gentle words while I just lie there. I don’t understand the words he’s saying, my mind too far gone, but I feel safe in his presence. My world goes black the moment he pulls me into his protective embrace.

*

Hours later, I wake up, still trembling and aching. Geralt must have not slept at all, because as soon as I begin to stir, he peppers my face with soft butterfly kisses.

“Shh, you’re safe, little kitten. I got you. Shh,” he coos as I whimper, gently rubbing my arms and back. “Are you okay?” His question is gentle, but when I turn my head to look at him, his face is as serious as it could get.

“Yeah,” I nod weakly, “It just… it hurts a little.” A lie. It hurts a lot. But I want it to hurt. This was the only night I was able to spend with him, I’m certain, so I want to remember it; I want to feel him for weeks.

“I’m sorry. I was too rough. I couldn’t stop myself,” Geralt rambles and I shake my head, cupping his jaw and kiss his stubbled chin.

“It was a lot, but it was amazing,” I giggle, “ _You_ were amazing. I don’t think I ever felt this good, and I doubt I will ever feel that way again. Witcher, you’ve ruined me.”

His low, rumbling laugh is music to my ears. “Good, because I intend on keeping you, my lady.”

“I… what. I thought-”

“Shh, sleep now, little kitten. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

With a hum of agreement, I nuzzle up closer to him. Chuckling, Geralt turns to lie on his back and pulls me with him, sprawled out on his chest. There, he hold me close while I press small kisses to the hollow of his throat until I fall back asleep.

*

The morning comes way too soon, bright rays of sunlight breaking through the gaps in the heavy curtains, shining rudely right into our faces. I groan, nuzzling my face further into Geralt’s neck, inhaling his intoxicating musk. He rubs my back, laughing quietly to himself and pulls the blanket higher. But as hard as I try, I can’t seem to fall asleep. I let out a frustrated huff as I lift my head, finding Geralt relaxed, with his eyes closed, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Morning,” I grumble tiredly, making him chuckle as he opens his eyes, peering down at me.

“Good morning, little kitten. Slept well?” His raspy morning voice makes me melt.

“Mhmhh,” I hum, “Just too short.” I’m silent for a moment, contemplating whether I should say it or not. Fuck it. “But I’ve never slept better.”

“Hmm.”

“You said you’re planning to keep me?” I ask timidly, after another moment of silence.

“Only if you want to, my lady.” He turns to his side, holding me so we can properly look at each other. Though his face remains soft and gentle, I can see something in his eyes that makes my heart hurt. He’s afraid I might reject him, scared to be alone. Carefully, I cup his cheek and capture his lips softly.

“Of course I want to, silly,” I smile as I pull back, “I wasn’t just after you because you seemed like a good fuck, Witcher.”

Geralt dips his head down and kisses me again, full of relief. The kiss slowly but surely becomes deeper. Geralt tugs on my bottom lip with his teeth, making me open my mouth to his tongue. Carefully, he rolls on top of me, caging me with his large body. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him in deeper as our tongues dance.

A knock on the door makes us jump. The door swings open just a second after, giving us no time to, uhm, change our position.

“Good morni- Wow!” Jaskier barges in without much care.

Quickly, I scramble to pull the blankets up to my chin, glaring at my brother, while Geralt flops down next to me.

“My sister and my best friend,” Jaskier gapes jokingly, “About time. I was getting tired of your constant pining. But next time, keep it down a little, will you. I’m sure the whole castle heard you.”

My face heats up and I quickly hide it against Geralt’s chest.

“Is there more you wanted to say, Jaskier?” the Witcher grumbles, wrapping me up in his arms.

“No, just that.”

I don’t see it, but I feel the glare that Geralt sends my brother. Shortly after, the door closes with a bang and we’re left alone. Chuckling, Geralt pries my face from the crook of his neck and hold it gently between his large palms.

“Now, where were we?” he smiles before capturing my lips again, sweetly and full of hope.

Needless to say, we spend the whole day in bed, cuddling, kissing and recovering from the night before. Luckily, my brother arranged for food and drinks to be brought to our room – I’m sure I couldn’t walk, I didn’t even bother to try.

“Geralt?” I mumble as we lie in bed, watching the sunset.

“Hm?” he hums, wanting me to continue.

“I’ll follow you, wherever you go,” I whisper, “You do know that, right?”

“I know. But then we have a lot of training to do.” He grins at me, teasingly.

“Oh, so you’re calling me weak?”

“No. You’re definitely not weak. You’ve proven that last night. But there’s still room for improvement.”

“Mhh. Guess you’ll have to protect me, then.” I turn to him, smiling.

“I’ll make sure I’ll do.”

He kisses me sweetly and I sigh against his lips, pulling him close.


End file.
